


and i adore you

by arteaxo



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: AU kind of, M/M, i was a little high when i came up w the idea, lol fuk dis, where u kno they have No Obligations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arteaxo/pseuds/arteaxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This and this and this, despite the fact that three cannot begin to number your graces.</p>
<p>au of sorts. there's no prophecy this time, and thetis isn't the hovery mother she can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i adore you

They are sitting beneath a sprawling tree on a sunny afternoon, admiring each other. Both are too tired and heated to remember the name of their shade, but Patroclus notices that its bright leaves are put to shame when he catches Achilles' eyes. 

They admire each other in the dappled light, touching languorously and lightly all at once, sensual and careless. Achilles comes up with a new song (that's more of a limerick set to music) about the curve of Patroclus' backside. He is not rebuked, and takes great pleasure in watching the red flush his thereupon's face quite prettily. 

"I have flattered you much," he says, smile pulling at his lips. He settles back on his elbows and watches Patroclus, sleepy. "Your turn. Tell me the best three things about me." It is a tease, for tonight when they retire to their cots in a shared room, Patroclus will tell him that there is no way he can choose only three things to adore most. 

Still, he humours Achilles, and scoots closer so he can rest his curly head against the gold of the prince's thigh. 

"This," he says, and reaches up to brush a thumb across the pretty bow lips that quirk into a sleepy grin at the touch. 

"And this..." The hand is lower, now, palm flat against the newly broad chest of an excelling swordsman. Achilles feels the flutter of Patroclus' pulse through that palm, pulsing right over his heart. 

Patroclus, in turn, smooths the thumb over sun kissed skin, smiling when he feels it quicken. 

"And this." He's teasingly darted a hand under the short white chiton he wore today, fingers tangling a little in dark gold hairs and around overwarm flesh. 

Achilles yelps, surprised, but doesn't push away. Indeed, he's winking and waggling an eyebrow while his own hand sneaks down, fingers walking coyly over Patroclus' chest and doing a little dance across his thighs. 

"Of course you like that," he teases, and they're both laughing, warm as the sun and as sweet as tinkling bells. The hands clasp, instead, for it's too hot to expend much energy doing anything except being ridiculous saps in the countryside. 

"I like the whole of you, and you know it." Patroclus is red. Even in the shade, he can see the dark skin stained red. Achilles laughs again and leans down to kiss him softly, a little longer than was necessary, and soon scoots over to lay across his chest. 

Patroclus' wide brown eyes are warm as he winds his arms around Achilles' shoulders, and Achilles is nigh overcome with the need to kiss him and never stop. Alas that will take too much energy, and instead he just lays there, loving him. 

Sweat sheens between them, dampening the chitons they wear; Achilles hardly minds. Not that they aren't sticky and a little sour smelling, but the scent of figs from this morning still lingers in Patroclus' hair and so does the sea, from their dip just after those figs. 

This is the ideal, the prince finds himself thinking. There are no hindering, judging stares nor prophecies to keep behind heavy drapes in the backs of their minds, and even if there were he cannot bring himself to imagine it. 

"Achilles," Patroclus' voice breaks through his thoughts. He sounds sleepy, so Achilles promptly springs off his chest and hauls him up, swaying and grinning slowly. "What're you thinking about?" That's the tail end of the question. 

And Patroclus is so endearingly soft and slow in the shade of the tree that's not quite an olive; Achilles doesn't feel like making him think of alternate universes where they might spend such a day only to return to harsh reality that somehow, someday it'll all be over. 

So he simply pushes their lips together and leads him up to the palace again, where his father will call them Skops and Achilles respectively, and smiles. 

"Why, I was thinking of you, of course."

**Author's Note:**

> wow holy shit it's been 4 years since I last wrote smth resembling a fanfic. tell me how bad it was xoxo


End file.
